


Nobody's Business But Their Own

by gunslingaaahhh



Series: Idiot Hawaiian Husbands [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010) RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scott's revenge, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunslingaaahhh/pseuds/gunslingaaahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott gleefully takes his revenge, because he is an evil little man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Business But Their Own

“This is the fifth time I've called you, asshole!” Scott huffed into the receiver as he got out of his truck. “You tell me we're gonna go do a thing and you say 'call me the day of so I can give you the details,' and what happens? I call you and you _don't pick up the phone._ So now I look like the schmuck!”

The voicemail's automated voice cuts in to inform him that he's out of space to leave his message, so he just angrily thumbs the red phone button and stuffs the device into his pocket. Sighing heavily and breathing deeply through his nose to get his heart-rate under control, Scott surveys Alex's front yard.

There are dog toys and surfboards and... things littering the grass. Wrinkling his nose, Scott makes a mental note of all the training he's going to have to give Dusty, since Alex clearly can't figure it out for himself. No way is that out-of-control mutt going to rub off on his own pup's excellent obedience training. Not if he has anything to say about it.

Sauntering up to the front door, he peers through the panes of glass at the top and frowns; the whole downstairs appears dark. Alex is the type to throw open all the curtains and blinds, letting in as much light as humanly possible. He does this even when he isn't home, and Scott has told him – repeatedly – that it doesn't _matter_ that they are in Hawaii, people still break into other people's houses.

Ducking around back to see if the slider is locked, too, Scott scratches at his chin before checking his phone. The thing they were going to do isn't a mandatory thing, just a little something fun that won't be a big deal if they don't show. Which, judging by the time, they probably won't.

“This dick,” Scott mutters, pressing redial and hitting send. He's half expecting Alex's voicemail when a half-croaked “hello?” interrupts his thoughts.

“... Alex?” Scott asks, almost not believing; the guy sounds like shit.

“Yeah? Who else would it be, since you called _my phone_ ,” the other man says, voice still rough and just this side of techy.

“Uh, no, no one, I'm just asking because you sound like you puked up all your insides and a sack of cement for good measure.”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

Frowning slightly, Scott withers a bit. “In all serious, you sound like ass – what's the matter? Too much last night?”

There is silence, followed by a muffled rustling. Scott is vaguely aware of what sounds like a window opening before he startles at the sound of Alex's voice above him.

“No.”

Ending the call and cranning his neck to look up, Scott squints at the haggard face leaning out the window over him.

“The fuck happened, then? Seriously, you look like someone put you in the blender.”

Alex frowns at him, and he really does look like shit; the few lines he does have in his face are deepened, the bits of silver in his hair seem more pronounced, and its obvious he hasn't shaved in days, the almost-beard making him look fifty-five instead of thirty-five.

“I'm not in the mood for your shit right now, ok?”

“My—oh my God, you're sick!” Scott says with a gasp, eyes widening. Alex had managed to walk away unscathed from Scott's germ-infested domicile when he'd been sick a few weeks ago. They'd gone back on set and everything had been fine, Scott recovered from the Cold From Hell, and Alex as hale as ever.

A wicked grin began to form on Scott's lips, and Alex paled even further; he already knew.

“You don't have to do anything, Scotty, really! I'm fine, just gonna bunker down with Dusty and--”

“Oh no, absolutely not! How can I, on good conscience, leave you alone in your time of need? _Especially_ knowing how much you hate to be alone when you don't feel well?”

Alex winced; yup, that was totally coming back to bite him. Scott was already making his way onto the back deck, jimmying at the slider. He knew a trick or two to get those things unlocked from the outside, and luckily for him, Alex was one of those idiots who didn't put a length of wood or pipe in the track at the bottom. Making his way inside, Scott paused briefly to get accustomed to the gloom before opening up the windows himself. He'd lose his mind before he got to have any fun.

There was movement from upstairs and Scott turned just as Alex was stumbling down the stairs, shorts and t-shirt askew on his long frame. Dusty whizzed by, nearly knocking him over, running over to Scott and jumping up to greet him; he hated that shit, it wasn't hard to train a dog not to jump. He ignored her until she sat at his feet before scratching behind her ears; it was a good thing he'd left Dot at home, she learned to jump and it'd be all over.

Alex is standing a few feet away, a pleading look on his face. His eyes are wide and fever-bright, that much Scott can tell, and while part of him does feel a bit bad for taking advantage, the rest of him is ready for pay-back.

“I'm serious, I've been throwing up all night and I probably stink and the place is a mess and--” Alex begins, voice raw and hey, now Scott knows why.

Holding up his hands, Scott waits until Alex trails off. “I can see this, all of this, very well, thanks. But if you're really feeling that low down, why not just let me help? I mean, it isn't like I don't owe you.”

“Owe me?” Alex repeats, eyebrows raised skeptically. “For what—oh! Oh, no, Scotty, mate – you don't have to pay me back for the soup and stuff, really, it was no big deal.”

“Are you kidding? Stuck by my side when I was feeling like ass, made me soup, tucked me in – I'd be loathe to allow such a debt to go unrepaid,” Scott told him, with broad sweeps of his arms. He was laying it on thick, he knew he was, and it was hard to keep from cracking up like he so desperately wanted. “Really, it would be _my pleasure_ to assist you in this time of illness.”

He smiled sweetly, going for innocent, and in his feverish state Alex bought it, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, m'kay. I really do hate being alone when I'm sick...” he trailed off, looking back at Scott and shivering.

“No time to lose then; back to bed with you! And leave the dog down here,” Scott ordered, practically yelling that last when Alex made to beckon to Dusty. He gave the shorter man a confused, sad look before pausing. Scott pulled his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Do you want her to get sick, too? She doesn't need to be in bed with you.”

Alex made to say something else but shuffled back upstairs instead, padding back to his bedroom. Waiting until he was out of earshot, Scott darted into the kitchen to see what was to be had; no way was he making soup. Whenever he'd had a fever, he'd preferred toast with peanut butter and butter, nothing too heavy but slightly more filling than just broth and veggies. Not that he hadn't appreciated the soup Alex had made him, but that was a different circumstance; Alex didn't sound congested and therefore probably didn't need a hot, steaming bowl of something to clear his sinuses.

True to form, there wasn't anything bread-like in Alex's kitchen, nor was there peanut butter. He didn't bother to look for butter, as he knew it wouldn't be there. He'd have to run down to the market, but first he should inspect the sick nest Alex had undoubtedly made for himself.

The upstairs was just as shuttered and gloomy as the downstairs, so Scott made a point to open any and all windows as he ascended. When he found his way to Alex's bedroom, he paused to take pity – the taller man either didn't get sick very often, or if he did, had someone like his mom or a girlfriend around to take care of him. He was nothing if not a little pathetic.

Being a gigantic man, he had a pretty good size bed – he'd managed to fit himself into what looked like a two-foot by two-foot square. The entire comforter was wrapped around him, and all of the pillows had been arranged so that they had, in fact, created a little nest. There was a wastebasket next to the bed and Scott hoped that, as an adult, Alex had had the wherewithal to make it to the bathroom and not puke in the bucket. He gestured to said bucket and Alex sighed miserably.

“Just in case I didn't make it.”

“Your legs are like four feet long, how could you not make it?” Scott asked, trying for levity but failing at the misery on Alex's face.

“Because my body hurts! My bones ache and my joints hurt and my head is all stuffy and my belly hurts,” the other man replied, voice descending further and further into a whine.

“Well, have you taken anything? Tylenol, Advil, work with me here.”

“N-no...”

“Hi, Tylenol is a pain-reliever and _fever reducer,_ you goofball. Also, your stomach might not be so upset if you tried to eat something. Do you have, I dunno, saltine crackers?”

Alex didn't answer, just stared at Scott like he was a lifeline and also like he wasn't speaking English. Uh oh. Frowning, Scott went rummaging in Alex's en suite bathroom, searching for a thermometer. When he didn't find one, he stepped back and observed the medicine cabinet with his hands on his hips. Alex was a dad, a _parent_ – didn't parents typically keep things like thermometers and Tylenol and saltine crackers around, just in case something like this happened? Stepping back into the bedroom, he thumped himself on the forehead – he must've said that last part out loud, because Alex seemed to be caving in on himself, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Hey, hey hey hey, don't do that, alright? I didn't mean anything by it, I was just thinking out loud, relax,” Scott babbled, coming over to give Alex's shoulder a squeeze. God, he was turning into such a softy. “It's not a reflection on you, or your parenting skills – you're a great dad.”

Alex just regarded him silently, twisting the blankets in his big hands. “But I don't even have a thermometer--”

“That's ok, I have to run to the store anyway, I'll grab one. They go for like five bucks anyway, don't worry.” Giving Alex a final pat on the head, Scott dashed down the stairs and out to his truck, mind racing.

His original intention had been to mother-hen Alex in much the same way the other man had mother-henned him, but now he was realizing that Alex was dealing with more than just a head-cold and clogged sinuses. He was honest-to-Betsy sick, with a fever and everything, and Scott wasn't sure how to deal with that. He didn't have much experience in caring for someone in that way, and while he considered Alex to be one of his closest friends, he wasn't sure where to begin in making him feel less miserable.

“Step one: food,” he said to himself as he drove, seeking the market. “Step two: take his temperature. Fuck, how high is too high? Shit... ok, step one: temperature, step two: Tylenol, step three: food.” muttering the revised list to himself, he turned into the market and made his way inside, idly waving when a few people noticed him and said hello. He didn't want to waste time doing the autograph or photo thing, and the down-turned faces made him feel like a dick. He didn't _like_ saying no, despite what the gossip mags seemed to think, he just... he couldn't right then. He smiled and gave hugs and promised “next time, next time,” before disappearing into the bowels of the store in search of his items.

The pharmacy corner had thermometers, so he hastily grabbed those and industrial strength Tylenol. Pausing, he went up to the counter and cleared his throat until a tech meandered over.

“Help you?”

“Yeah, I just had a question regarding fevers; like, how high is too high in an adult? Say, I dunno, six feet, buck-and-a-half?” he asked, shuffling from foot to foot. The tech thought for a moment, eying him.

“Well, generally speaking, it doesn't matter the person's height or weight. In an adult, anything over 104 or so deserves a trip to the emergency room. By that point they become delusional, may stream in and out of consciousness.”

Scott felt a little shiver in his belly; fuck. “That's very helpful, thanks.” He turned on his heel and hurried over to where the food was, grabbing a loaf of thick, hearty bread and a large jar of peanut butter. Thinking about it, he also grabbed a jar of mixed berry preserves and unsalted butter. A niggling in the back of his head prompted him to grab a case of red Gatorade, too.

He sped back to Alex's and took the stairs two at a time, finding the other man more or less passed out.

“Wakey wakey, eggs 'n bakey,” he muttered, getting out the thermometer and Tylenol and opening a bottle of Gatorade. “Open up.”

Alex rolled his eyes open and blinked, confused, for a moment before accepting the thermometer. It beeped after about thirty seconds and Scott was relieved to see that while high, Alex's fever wasn't something to write home about. He tapped out a few pills and thrust them and the Gatorade into Alex's hands, making sure he'd swallowed everything before removing himself from the bed.

“I'm gonna, uh, go make you something. To eat. And stuff.”

“Uh, m'kay. Thanks mate.”

Toast is good because it's quick and easy. The way his dad used to do it was always his favorite; regular butter first, so it had a chance to melt, then peanut butter. Scott did a second slice with preserves, in the event Alex didn't like peanut butter, and brought it back upstairs.

“That smells good,” Alex said by way of greeting, and Scott grinned; hungry was a good sign.

“Yeah, just toast, nothing too heavy. And hey, maybe you should take a shower after? Might make you feel better.”

Alex nodded in agreement, humming as he munched his way through his toast. He headed for the shower when he was done, and Scott took the opportunity to strip the bed. Fevers meant sweating, and a sweaty sick bed was the worst. He managed to locate clean bed linens and remake the whole thing before Alex made his way out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair.

“Did you do something to my bed?”

“I remade it,” Scott said, slightly defensive; was that crossing a line? God, they'd crossed so many at this point it was impossible to know.

“Wow, thanks! I was gonna do it, but didn't feel up to it.”

Scott just nodded, averting his eyes when Alex dropped his towel and tugged on a fresh pair of shorts.

“So, uh, thanks for doing all this,” he said, fidgeting with his hands. “Can I bring Dusty up now?”

“What? Why, when you've got clean sheets?”

“... well, uh, I kinda wanna nap and cuddle with her.”

“Not in this bed. I already told you, no dogs in the bed.”

Alex pouted, eyes glassy even with the Tylenol. “But I'm achy and she's warm and she doesn't care if I smell like sick.”

“Whining is not a cute trait on anyone, babe,” Scott admonished, scratching at the back of his neck. “You can nap perfectly well without her.”

“But I don't want to! I don't _want_ to sleep by myself,” Alex said, practically stamping his foot. “When I was sick when I was little, my mum would _always_ lay with me. Even when I wasn't so little; if she was here right now, betcha she'd _still_ lay with me.”

Scott frowned; he had a good idea of where Alex was going with this – he thought – but didn't understand the need to pitch a bitch fit over it. He pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Alex, are you saying you miss your mom?”

“Yes!” Alex declared, his voice catching a little.

Now Scott knew where the whole never-alone-when-I'm-sick thing came from.

“That's fine, that's ok! But you're an adult and she isn't here, so... you're gonna have to deal with the next best thing--”

“Which is Dusty, who _you_ won't let upstairs!” Alex interrupted, stomping over to the bed and angrily climbing into it.

“I was going to say _me_ , but if you'd rather cuddle with a flea-bitten, mannerless animal, be my guest,” Scott said dryly.

Alex gaped at him for a moment, eyes huge in his face. Scott felt himself squirming in the hold of those eyes, trying manfully not to ogle Alex's chest – it isn't like he doesn't see it every day or anything – and wonder whether or not this is such a good idea.

“You'd—you'd stay with me? But what if you get sick again? It'd be like a never-ending cycle of disease.”

“Like I said, I owe you. Now shut up before I change my mind,” Scott grumbled, toeing out of his shoes and climbing into the bed. He was really glad he'd thought to change the sheets.

Once settled, he reached for the TV remote and flicked it on, settling on a black and white AMC special. Alex fidgeted beside him, and Scott watched him from the corner of his eye until he couldn't stand it anymore.

“You, with the moving around and distracting me from the movie, get over here!” Scott demanded, adjusting his body and opening his arms. Alex stared at him with frank disbelief – wondering about this damn lines, no doubt – before barreling over. Scott let out an 'oof' when Alex settled heavily against his side, resting his head against Scott's chest.

“You aren't mum, but I 'spose you'll do.”

“Gee, thanks.”

And hey, if they woke up a few hours later with the sheets – and their legs – tangled together and their faces a bit too close, well, that was nobody's business but their own.  


-FIN-


End file.
